Duet
by let-the-eli-in
Summary: There had to be a reason as to why he'd purchased a second violin. [oneshot]


I have long regarded my friend Sherlock Holmes as a man of utmost passion. This one trait of his has always been the most glaring opposition to my past claims of him as a cold, calculating machine. His violin is a prime example of this; the melodies that flowed from it on the calmer days of our existence were among the few things that revealed his humanity.

However, I never imagined that Holmes would bring me into this hobby of his. I was content to lounge in my armchair, enjoying the songs that sprang from the instrument. His love of the music, I felt, was personal to him, and I had no intention to interfere. But Holmes, as on many occasions, proved me incorrect.

It was on a bitter winter's day and I, due to the steady throbbing of my leg, had confined myself to the sofa. I attempted to finish my reading of a novel, but it did not hold my interest, as my mind was elsewhere. Holmes had left the comforts of Baker Street hours before without informing me of his destination, and curiosity had arisen within me. He had been without a case for several days, and I doubted the sense of taking a recreational walk in such vile weather.

I had drawn no conclusions by the time Holmes returned home. The face behind his cravat was pale with the cold, but a mischievous twinkle in his eyes told me he'd enjoyed his excursion.

"Good evening, Watson! No doubt you've been wondering where I'd gone off to?"

I nodded. "Yes indeed, Holmes."

My friend settled himself in front of the fire, stretching his long legs out towards it. "Well then, have you made any conclusions as to my whereabouts? You know my methods; go on!"

I immediately took in his appearance, straining my eyes so that I would not miss any detail. I relished these rare opportunities where I was allowed to be in his position. "There is a great deal of slush on your shoes; wherever you went it is a fair distance away, but not far way enough for you to take a train. Also I notice that you have lost your watch chain, as you left with it in your pocket and it created a noticeable bump, but now I see your pockets are empty. I also know why you left in the first place; it seems you took your violin to the shop," I finished, noting the violin case in his hand.

Holmes laughed as he place his pipe between his lips. "You are quite an apt detective yourself, Watson. Scotland Yard would benefit from your presence. But I'm afraid I must contradict your findings."

"How so?"

Holmes placed his elbows upon his knees and put his fingertips together. "I did take a train today, contrary to your deduction. The large amount of slush is the result of my unfortunate misstep into a puddle. I did not lose my watch chain, as you have so astutely observed. I merely placed it in my coat pocket to protect it from this horrible weather. And I'm afraid, Watson, that I must drive the last nail into the coffin, so to speak; if you had turned your head to the left during my absence, you would see that my violin is there in the corner. I apologize, my boy, but those are the facts."

I laughed softly, conceding my defeat. "Then why did you bring a violin case with you? And where did you go in the first place?"

Holmes lifted the case and placed it on his lap. He smiled lightly as he drew a very fine-looking violin out from it. "You failed to note that I did not leave with the violin case. You see, I have bought one. I went to see a very fine maker out in the country; splendid craftsmanship, though I doubt his wife would allow him to continue his work if she found that he was rather involved with one of his female customers…"

"I don't understand, Holmes. What is the use of a second violin? The one you own is in good condition."

Holmes stood then, placing the case and violin aside, and strode to a large painting of a fox hunt. With careful hands he removed it from the wall, and took from it a stack of papers he'd tucked into the back of the canvas, held there by the frame.

"Here you are, Watson. You will observe that they are musical sheets, and if you were a man of notes you would see that the piece is a duet."

"A duet?" I required several moments for my friend's words to explain themselves to me. When I finally comprehended, Holmes's smile widened considerably. "I am not a musician, Holmes."

"And the dog is not a servant, not at least until he acquires a master."

"You intend to teach me?"

"Yes indeed, my dear Watson! When your lessons have ceased you will know all there is to know about the finer points of violin, and our music will fill the corridors of Baker Street!"

I was not so able a student, however. After many painful lessons, Holmes ended his literary criticism of my works and instead berated my musical abilities. While I have confidence in my capabilities as a writer, I do not have such self-assurance in my talent as a musician. Mrs. Hudson took to fleeing from our lodgings by taking prolonged walks, and I began to fear that Holmes would revert back to his cocaine usage, if only to have the cloud of the drug dull his hearing.

I will venture to say however that I improved over time. Holmes would not allow me to read a yellow-back novel between cases, nor would he allow me to eat if my lessons had not been completed. There was many a night when I retired for bed with an empty stomach and a sore arm. But for all this my efforts were rewarded when Holmes removed the sheets from the painting once again.

As he set the papers before us, a strange sort of excitement came over me. I was accustomed to telling stories through my use of language, the manipulation of words to suit my purpose. Yet with a violin in my hand music became my servant. With it I could tell any story I desired, a story not seen with the eyes but heard with the heart.

For all his teaching Holmes still surpassed me. There was no matching his skillful handling of the instrument. Yet he smiled as we played, completely content in his world of song. I felt privileged to have been brought there by his request; it was the same feeling that overtook me when he insisted on my presence at a case.

When we had finished he replaced the sheets inside the painting and violins into the cases. Holmes then began to lounge in his armchair, tapping his long, thin fingers in remembrance of the melody. "You did it very well, Watson. I owe you many thanks. Now we must go fetch Mrs. Hudson, I fear. She seemed to think that our little duet would be quite disastrous, and has gone out. Get your coat, Doctor, unless you'd rather go without supper."

---

**I came up with this while listening to Mairead Nesbitt, an Irish violinist. I'm a little unsatisfied, as I have yet to master Arthur Conan Doyle's style...**


End file.
